


Bare

by queenofgaylions



Category: Spies Are Forever - Talkfine/Tin Can Brothers
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:14:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23209876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofgaylions/pseuds/queenofgaylions
Summary: “You know, Old Boy, I’d be interested in seeing if you could pull off a beard.”
Relationships: Owen Carvour/Agent Curt Mega
Comments: 10
Kudos: 84





	Bare

Owen drew his fingers lightly along Curt’s jaw, just barely grazing the stubble there. “You know, Old Boy, I’d be interested in seeing if you could pull off a beard.”

They were lying side by side in bed, the only light in the room coming from the window behind Curt, left open to let the cool night air in. He’d been half-asleep as Owen traced figures across his skin, but his eyes blinked open when he registered the words, and he couldn’t help but laugh. It was hard to think of anything but his disastrous attempts to grow facial hair as a teenager. He had never tried it again, though he suspected that he could grow a decent one now if he did. But as much as he’d disliked his deceptively youthful face when he was younger, it had been nothing but an asset to him since he’d become a field agent. His charming looks had gotten him out of more than a few tight situations, which made all the ribbing from the other agents about his baby face well worth it.

Besides, it was this face that had snagged Owen’s attention to begin with; why would he want to change it?

Owen poked his finger into his cheek in retaliation to his laughter. “I’m serious! I think it would make you look… rugged, and manly.”

Curt shifted under the sheet that covered them both, turning to face his partner properly. The dim light of the room made his dark eyes look even darker, but they were also open and warm in a way they only were when they were alone, and a slight smile graced his lips. The finger that had been prodding him had drifted to rest near Curt’s chin.

“Is that what you’re into then?” Curt teased, “Manly mountain men? Do you fantasize about lumberjacks in your free time?”

“I fantasize about _you_ in my free time,” Owen shot back, catching Curt off guard with his boldness. He hoped the room was dark enough to mask the warmth in his face that not even his training was enough to suppress. The way Owen’s finger dragged over his cheek again, like he was following the blush there, made him think he wasn’t so lucky. But it was hard for Curt to care too much about how easily Owen seemed to slip past all his defenses when he looked at him so tenderly. Then his eyes raised to meet Curt’s again, and his smile widened, “Maybe you’re a lumberjack in some of these fantasies; it’s hard to say.”

Curt couldn’t help the loud laugh that burst from him any more than he could the blush. But even with his head thrown back, he could see from the corner of his eye as Owen’s face softened at the sound, clearly not minding.

He’d never known he could laugh so much and so honestly until he’d met and loved Owen.

Owen’s eyes met his again; a look full of feelings unsaid passed between them. Then he pushed forward to press his lips to the sensitive skin of Curt’s neck, making his lingering laughter turn breathless as he leaned into the feeling. He could feel Owen’s lips still smiling as they pressed against him.

“I’m just saying,” Owen said into his neck, though Curt was hard-pressed to pay attention to anything but the sensation of it, “I think you’d look good with a beard. Think about it, Love.”

“I make no promises.”

Curt forgot how much facial hair itched in the beginning. He couldn’t help but to scratch at it as he looked it over in the mirror, making the red skin of his cheeks, visible even in the dim light, even more inflamed and irritated.

It had been over ten years since the last time he’d tried to grow facial hair, and while the process was just as annoying as he remembered it being, at least the hair that was growing wasn’t as patchy as it had been when he was sixteen. It might not even look too bad if it wasn’t so unkempt. He should try to trim it a little, or just shave the damned thing off and spare himself the persistent itchiness that followed him, constantly demanding his attention.

Curt meets the eyes of the sad sack in the mirror and tries to picture what his face looked like when it was bare, clean-shaven with the confident smirk he used to wear as well as his suit and ties.

Instead he remembers the feeling of fingers on his cheek, ghosting over stubble long gone. He flinches away from the touch, but it follows, accompanied by the faint whisper of breath against his chin, the memory of a quiet laugh, warm and secret, and a conversation in the dark.

_“You always look better with an actual smile on your face, Love.”_

He steps away from the mirror, leaving behind the blurry image of a man and the ridiculous beard on his face, grown for someone who will never see it. He doesn’t look for trimmers or a razor. Instead he goes for the bottle of whiskey left on the bedside table. He pours himself a couple fingers with a hand that trembles. He downs it quick.

And then another.

And then another.

**Author's Note:**

> Why was Curt so adamant about keeping his beard when even he seemed to be disdainful of it?
> 
> Constructive criticism is appreciated, as I am extremely rusty and it shows.


End file.
